d Premiers had governed by the personal method. The
moral law was written all over Borden. He was a walking decalogue. He
worked for the good of the country without detriment to the
Conservative party. But there never was any Borden Mount of
Transfiguration. He never could lead except when he was considered by
the Majority to be right. In the war he took refuge in the nation, and
its patriotism. But for the war one doubts that Sir Robert would ever
have won any title to fame.

The man's whole makeup is a sort of righteousness. He had no use for
the mirror more than to adjust his necktie and his hair, of which a
woman writer said:

"That wonderful hair of his must have brought the unctuous fingers of
many masters, spiritual and otherwise, down upon it in commendatory
pats. . . . I daresay that it was his mother's pleasure in it and the
way she enjoyed running her fingers through it that made him
realize--subconsciously at least--that his hair was a very magnificent
asset." The writer also described the garden of the Premier--his
wonderful roses; how he talked about the personalities of the wild
flowers so dear to his soul, and the perversities of the wild
cucumber--but amiably declined to say a word about the destinies of
nations.

Laurier had his flute. Borden should not be denied his wild garden. I
used to think, watching the Premier in the House, that he would make a
splendid bronze bust of an Egyptian god.

But the man never could dress for the part of leader. He needed too
much grooming. He must always be immaculate. A trifle of neglige
would have ruined his career.

We never heard of his "iron hand within the velvet glove." He had
neither the hand nor the glove. He was an influence; never a power.
Even when the stage was all set for a show Sir Robert could not take
the spot-light. He did not abhor the calcium; he merely did not know
what to do when it was on. During the tour which preceded the
triumphal election of 1911 he was strong enough to win the country and
weak enough to pose for oratorical photographs of Sir Robert swaying a
crowd--on the roof of a Toronto hotel. Those photographs were
published as authentic pictures of the Premier in action.

But real action seldom happened to Premier Borden. He never could
invent occasions. He had no craft to play the game, no intuition to
penetrate into the conscience of a lukewarm supporter or of a man whose
policies and programmes might be